After giving birth to Holden, the LAST thing on my mind was getting knocked up again. What was on my mind was the mind-numbing pain coming from all the stitches holding my vagina together, but that’s not the point..
I have a plan.. no more babies until Holden is out of diapers. I’d actually like to wait until he’s in kindergarten so that he gets my full attention until he’s ‘out of the house’ and the new baby would get all of my attention during the day.
That.. and the thought of taking care of two young screaming children terrifies me to the core. I literally think i’d go insane.. Anyways..
Sounds like a good plan, right? I think so.
Regardless of how set in my ways I am, it doesn’t stop me from swooning every time I see a cute preggo walking through the store.. picking out tiny little clothes and grimacing through the diaper and formula section, not knowing which to buy.
And you’d better keep me AWAY from the itty-bitty babies being effortlessly carried through the store while I painfully lug around my 27+ lb one year old.
I start missing the old days. Having that big fat baby belly and having people stare at you and say awwwwww’ (kind of like I do now). Feeling the intense karate kicks from the spawn growing inside your uterus.. Carrying around a teeny-tiny little lump of baby cuteness without losing feeling in your arms or having your back start to hurt after 5 minutes.
Baby fever, in full effect. And once it hits you it is STRONG and unrelenting.
And the feeling doesn’t just go away in the snap of your fingers.. it lasts. Sometimes a few days, sometimes a week. Your crazy once-preggo brain starts thinking how fabulous it would be to make a new bundle of joy. To be able to have a cuddly, bottle-slurping, always sleeping ‘infant’.. because your child is no longer considered an infant, but is now a toddler- and you will never get those days back.
I have a complete lapse of judgement until the thought of stretch marks, contractions, pushing a huge bowling ball out of my snatch, AGAIN, recovery time.. being up ALL NIGHT every night.. OMG will this new baby have reflux? How can I handle two?? Can we even AFFORD another money-sucking formula guzzler?
And then I realize i’m being completely and totally insane and idiotic, and start thanking my lucky stars that my stupidity didn’t take me far enough to utter those 3 words that you can’t ever take back:
“Don’t pull out”
Once those words have been spoken they can not be undone, then you go into the dreaded ‘2 week wait’, and those two weeks are LONG. Full of wondering WHY you ever thought another baby was a good idea, OMG I CAN’T DO THIS and PLEASE let that piss-stick come up negative.
Nope, never got that far.. and I hope to never have a brain lapse that large.
That’s not to say we haven’t had a few ‘oopsies’ (more like.. my period is NEVER regular, leading me to believe every cycle that I could be pregnant, even if the chances are incredibly slim.. because, well.. you have to have sex to get pregnant), which still makes me a pretty big moron because TRUST ME, as nice as another drooling sack of flesh would be..
it will only be nice after another 2…3… maybe 4 years.
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